


More Than a Midsummer Night’s Dream

by FrivolousSuits



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Light Angst, References to Shakespeare, Romance, Season/Series 07 Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-03 00:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10955634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits
Summary: “You know I love you, Donna.”She had to pry the words out of Harvey, and he threw them down like a live grenade, primed to wreck them both.In the aftermath of her break-up with Mitchell, Louis says those three words like it's the most natural thing in the world. It surprises Donna, how easily she says them back.





	More Than a Midsummer Night’s Dream

**Author's Note:**

> The conversation referenced in the summary and the first scene of this fic is from [a scene in 6:07](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4o5EhFETwA).

“You know I love you, Donna.”

She had to pry the words out of Harvey, and he threw them down like a live grenade, primed to wreck them both. The fallout sent her fleeing to Louis and landed him in therapy.

When Donna told Louis about her break-up, he snarled a threat to freeze Mitchell’s assets by the end of the week. She reined in his protective rage soon enough, but not before he declared, “You’re everything to me.”

He said it so easily. She had already known that he prized her friendship— of course she knew, she’s Donna— but she felt a knot loosen somewhere inside her.

“I love you, Donna,” he had murmured.

“I love you too, Louis.”

Then he went back to planning his first date with Tara, and she left him to it, sincerely hoping he’d find happiness this time around. But, looking back at how easily they’d said those words, she should have at least suspected.

* * *

 

When his relationship with Tara implodes, Louis doubles his appointments with Dr. Lipschitz. After he spends several hours reviewing past failed romances, his therapist suggests that he start looking forward, asking what sort of qualities he should look for in potential lovers in the future.

Louis contemplates. “I’d like to be with a powerful woman. Beautiful on the inside, and ideally on the outside as well. Someone confident, who won’t be intimidated by all my success. She’d have to be extraordinarily talented and driven, someone who takes pride in being the best in her field, but she also needs to be kind, exceptionally sensitive, and empathetic. She’d obviously have to share some passions of mine— law, drama, maybe mudding? And she needs to be based in New York this time around, and she absolutely cannot be someone who’ll get scared off by the whole Mike-Ross-the-fraud debacle. Really, she needs to be able to know all of my faults, many as they are, and understand them, and thoroughly enjoy my company regardless . . . What do you mean, you’re not sure if any woman would? I know plenty of women who could fit—”

Oh.

He resumes speaking in a reverential murmur. “I know exactly one woman who fits all those criteria perfectly. And I would be content to worship at her altar for the rest of my days . . . No, she’s not imaginary! You of all people should know I’ve got the maladaptive daydreaming under control—”

The conversation spirals down a new tangent for the rest of their session, but the revelation reverberates in Louis’ mind for hours after he hangs up. He falls asleep to visions of shimmering red hair.

* * *

 

Louis forms his best plans aloud, while recording himself so he can review his monologues for subtextual brilliance later. His Dictaphone is too famous, too exposed to act as a repository for secrets so deep, so he considers buying a second one before remembering that “Voice Memos” app on his newly-bought iPhone. Perfect.

Now all he has to do is attain the unattainable.

“Option one— mudding. There’s a special treatment right now, where they mix the clay with mineral water imported from the French Alps, and I could reserve the Oasis room for us . . . Mmm, no, I can’t risk a repeat of the incident. Jessica said they always know. And yes, Jessica was intoxicated at the time, but Donna would _definitely_ know.” He shudders. “On to option two. I could charter a private plane, pick some exotic destination — Turks and Caicos would be an exquisite refuge from Manhattan’s bustle, or we could maybe tour some of the most romantic cities in Europe . . . But no, jetting off feels generic, like something Harvey would do, it doesn’t have that classic Louis Litt spark. Which brings me to option three. The theater. The Elysium of both of mind and soul. The foundation of so much of our relationship thus far . . . The theater it is.”

* * *

 

While he cannot match Donna, never let it be said that Louis Litt is incapable of supernatural feats. With a few phone calls, he manages to land a pair of tickets to tomorrow’s performance of _Hamilton,_ for seats near the center of the sixth row. He only has to threaten two lawsuits to pull it off.

Louis then develops no less than seven distinct strategies for asking her to accompany him to the show. He even digs out his old Donna puppet and tests them all a few times before finally selecting the optimal solution.

“Hey, Donna. Entirely out of nowhere, an old client just sent me two tickets for _Hamilton_. Would you like to join me at the theater after your investor meeting?”

She looks up from her computer, and Louis swears for a moment that she’s staring right through his soul.

“There’s no hidden clauses,” he starts to clarify. “No favors expected in return—”

“I didn’t think there were,” she interrupts. “And thank you, Louis. I would love to join you.”

* * *

 

Donna comforts Louis as he cries through the second act, and when the play is over she introduces him to a Cuban cafe, tucked by the Neil Simon Theater just a few minutes away. Over their after-theater dinner, they dissect the play and rave over their favorite lines, and she doesn’t even mock Louis when he attempts to rap, simply chuckles and tells him he could use a bit more practice.

He can’t stop smiling.

A few days later, he snaps up orchestra tickets to _The Great Comet_ — it’s a hot show in its own right, and the parallels with _Hamilton_ should spark an interesting dinner discussion — but he abandons his plans that afternoon when Donna dashes into his office.

“They’re attempting to shut down The Donna. Again.”

“But we got rid of the software overlap—”

“They found different grounds.”

Louis inhales. Exhales. “All right, Donna. I’m going to examine their ridiculous complaint, find every lurking flaw, and then I’m going to blow them to smithereens.”

“I know you are.”

It takes several tense hours for him to figure out how he'll fend off this new attack. When he finally calls the opposing counsel back, Donna, Benjamin and Stu sit in to listen to their enemies getting Litt Up™.

Truly, Louis is on _fire_. His words are biting, cutting, scintillating as he demolishes their complaint, as he orders them to leave his clients alone or else be sued for millions themselves. He snatches glances at Donna, and the way she watches him — as if he’s something special, even to a woman who spent twelve years observing Harvey Specter— drives him to be smarter and wittier and more effective than ever before.

He wins, of course.

As soon as he hangs up, the room lets out a collective sigh. Benjamin mumbles something about accelerating development of “The Litt,” and Stu expresses his admiration of Louis’ prowess, one lawyer to another. They file out of his office soon enough, leaving Donna and Louis alone.

“That was—” she shakes her head— “nothing short of spectacular. You’re pretty damn magnificent, when you throw your heart and soul into something.”

“Just doing my job,” he says with a shrug. “Hey, Donna.”

“Yes?”

“I know a perfect way to de-stress.”

She leans forward. “Tell me.”

“You, me, and two pistols, wreaking utter havoc on this town. In a reputable shooting range with appropriate hearing protection, of course.”

Her smile slowly grows. “You know what, Louis? That is exactly what I need right now.”

* * *

 

Donna utterly destroys him on the range, and he doesn’t even mind. They make it to _The Great Comet_ a few days later, and then they end up back at the Cuban cafe, sharing plantain fries as the band plays softly in the background. Louis tries to keep up a flow of friendly chatter, waxing poetic about the witty lyrics and the inventive electronic elements in the score —

“Louis,” Donna cuts him off, “what is this?”

“I— I don’t know what you mean,” he stammers.

She just gives him a look, and that’s all it takes for him to get his act together.

“It’s a casual night out at the theater as friends, if you want it to be.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then it’s our third date.”

Donna stares at him, then looks away, nodding. An eternity later, she turns back to him and remarks, “Well, thanks to her falling-out with Mike, Rachel has two unneeded tickets for tomorrow’s _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , down at the New York City Ballet. And while I don’t know much about the ballet myself, I would be honored if you would come with me and explain what I’m missing . . .”

He holds his breath as she finishes her sentence with an elfin smile: “On our fourth date.”

* * *

 

There are more dates, varied yet invariably interesting. After a particularly _detailed_ discussion, Donna invites him home.

“What’s your safeword?”

Louis has done his research this time, and he trusts Donna enough to know she won’t let him get away without one.

“Exeunt.”

She chuckles at that. “I approve. Now, Louis—” she raises one well-defined eyebrow— “let’s get started.”

* * *

 

Dating Donna is paradise, marred only by the insecurities that nag at Louis, no matter how hard he tries to repress them. He succeeds in at least hiding them from Donna, until she brings him as her plus-one to a gala celebrating up-and-coming entrepreneurs and they run into a client from back in the firm’s Pearson-Hardman days.

“You might remember Louis,” Donna says in introduction. “He was still a junior partner when you were with the firm, but now he’s name partner and handling all legal affairs for The Donna.”

“Not Harvey?” the client replies, looking genuinely surprised. Donna simply chuckles and explains, no, as managing partner Harvey Specter has plenty of other responsibilities, and he trusts Louis implicitly with The Donna’s legal side. Louis laughs it off, and it in no way impacts his behavior for the rest of the night—

“What’s up with you?” Donna snaps as soon as they get into the car. “You’ve had your supervillain persona on all night, ever since we ran into Yvonne—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s the tack you’re taking?”

“Oh, fine,” he spits. “It was just, I don’t know, too on the nose.”

“The bit about Harvey?”

Louis turns his head towards the window and sighs. “It’s just that— I feel like he should be here, not me. The two of you always seemed inevitable.”

“He thought that too,” she mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

They simmer in silence for several minutes, and then Louis summons the guts to speak once more. “I feel like he’s Oberon and you’re Titania. He’s the fairy king, you’re the fairy queen. You’re meant to be together. And you know who I am?”

“Who?”

“Nick Bottom. The idiot craftsman who stumbles into your fairy world entirely by accident. And, sure, Titania’s bewitched for a few hours, and she thinks he’s attractive and interesting, but then she wakes up and realizes he’s nothing more than an ass.” Swallowing too hard, he whispers, “And then she goes back to Oberon, where she’s always belonged.”

He turns back to her and finds her watching him, eyes glassy with tears.

“Louis,” she finally says in a tone that brooks no argument, “this is not just a midsummer night’s dream. Believe me, you are _not_ Nick Bottom.”

The chauffeur pulls up in front of Donna’s apartment, and she opens the car’s door. Before leaving, she shoots a cunning smile back at Louis. “And Oberon? I always liked him more with his ever-loyal assistant.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “His Robin?’

“His Robin Goodfellow.” Outright grinning, she slips from the car. Louis eventually rouses himself from his shock and scrambles out, now spouting a litany of questions.

* * *

 

Harvey doesn’t realize for ages. He overhears Louis ranting through the phone at a florist— “What do you mean, you’ve never heard of love-in-idleness? It’s _viola tricolor_ , heartsease . . . Yes, yellow-white-and-purple pansies. For a florist, you have no sense of poetry. Now, I want you to send her a bouquet, expense is no object, and in the card write ‘Not for you. Love, Louis’ . . .”

Harvey just snorts and saunters away, pitying whatever poor woman Louis has set his eyes on now.

Then he notices the bouquet of tri-colored flowers sitting on Donna’s desk when he comes back from his lunch meeting. She’s not there, presumably due to her own business duties, so Harvey storms straight to Louis’ office.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

"You sent Donna flowers.”

". . . Right. I was planning to tell you when—”

"When she catches on and explodes at you, and then you crawl to me to fix it?”

Louis opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, then opens it again. “You’ve lost me again.”

"It’s been going on for months, Louis. You’ve been personally handling everything for The Donna, even the stuff our most useless associates could do. You’ve been taking her to plays, and auditions, and parties. Now you’re sending flowers to her desk. You’re trying to— I don’t know, woo her,” he scoffs.

Louis’ eyes narrow. “It’s been going on for months, and you think she doesn’t know? Donna? She who knows all?” He gives a slightly vicious snort. “I’d be offended that you think it’s so impossible she might appreciate my attentions, except I know that you can’t comprehend her appreciating attention from any man besides you.”

He regrets the words as soon as he says them, as soon as Harvey’s face crumples.

“I’m sorry,” Louis quickly adds, staring down at his hands. “This wasn’t how you were supposed to find out. We were going to wait and see if this was going to work out, and then we would—”

“You don’t deserve her.”

Louis’ eyes snap up. “What?”

“Look at you— you’re an impulsive man-child. You screw up every relationship you touch because of insecurities and your goddamn ego—”

“I hope you’re listening to yourself, Harvey, because you just wrote the perfect summary for the back of your autobiography—"

“What the hell does that mean—”

“It means that when a woman asks you how you love her, you should have enough respect for her to give a straight answer instead of kicking her out of your life!”

Harvey flinches.

“And you’re right.” Louis swallows and nods rapidly. “You’re right, that I don’t deserve her. But I’m going to do better, because she makes me better.”

“How could you do this to me?”

“Shockingly, this isn’t about you. This about me, and, most importantly, Donna. But Harvey? You had twelve years to get your act together, and you did next to nothing, because you always assumed she’d be waiting.” He waves a hand at the door. “Now get out and go wrap your head around this. Leave before we say something that ends up hurting her.”

And after a moment, he goes.

* * *

 

Donna finds Harvey in his office late that night, sitting on his black leather armchair and contemplating the half-finished glass of scotch between his hands.

“So,” she says, taking a seat by him, “I got Louis’ account of events, but I want to hear yours.”

“Honestly? It didn’t go half as badly as it could have.”

“That’s what he said, too. No coffee tables were damaged?”

“None.” He lets out his breath in a huff. “I’m sorry about what I said to Louis, true though it may be.”

“You’re gonna tell him that yourself, maybe omitting that last bit.”

“Maybe.” Harvey chuckles and then glances at her. “I’m sorry to you, too. For . . . everything.”

“I know.”

“I— I just don’t get it, Donna. You cut me out because you said you don’t sleep with the people you work with. You said it was one of your rules.”

“I did. And I’ve also noticed that _you_ never respect rules or the personal boundaries of others except when they suit you.”

“You’re special.”

“Yes, but I somehow doubt that’s why you decided to follow my rule.” She shifts on her chair, leaning forward and waiting until he meets her eyes. “I think you didn’t cross the line because you knew, on some level, that we’re best as co-workers and friends. _Platonic_ friends.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Donna catches a trace of amusement in his expression. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing— just that Dr. Agard might be pleased by this turn of events.”

“What? Why?” Donna frowns. “She likes me.”

“She likes you a little too much.” Seeing Donna's eyes widen, he hastily adds, “No, not like that!”

“Like what, then?”

“I . . . might have had to tell her about some dreams.”

“About me? Sex dreams, I assume?” Then she sees the guilty smile crossing Harvey’s face, and her jaw drops. “Oh god, it’s worse. How can it be worse?”

“I . . . might have been using you as a sort of stand-in _formymother_.”

He rushes the last few words, but she nonetheless hears and bursts out laughing.

“On an emotional level!” he exclaims.

“Oh, Harvey. I have never met another man who can beat you in the emotional repression department.”

Smirking, he replies, “I can’t be beat at anything I throw my heart into.”

“You’ll just have to find someone who expresses enough feelings for two people,” she suggests slyly.

“Yeah, something like that.” He takes another sip of his scotch, then ponders for a minute before understanding dawns. “. . . Oh, don’t even think about it.”

“Too late, I’ve been thinking about you and Mike for years. I’ve got Louis on board, too.”

“Are you two now coordinating your schemes against me?” Harvey protests.

“ _For_ you, Harvey. For you. You’re lucky we both like you so much.”

“There is a threesome joke to be made here.”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Thank you for being mature and not mentioning it.”

After a few more minutes of increasingly light-hearted banter, Donna gets up, puts one arm around Harvey and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You know I love you, too.”

He just snorts and knocks back the rest of his scotch.

And as Donna leaves to meet Louis at his— their home, she comes up with proof that she’s made the right choice. Harvey says “I love you” like he’s lost a war. Louis says it like it’s the beginning of a life.

**Author's Note:**

> Darvey could of course be lovely to see on-screen, but in case that ship doesn't become canon I really like Lonna as a plausible alternative. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
